Altair And The Plot Bunny
by Kallios the Scholar
Summary: Altair encounters a plot bunny, and makes one of his fanwriters deal with it. Poor, poor me. I should get paid for having to deal with carnivorous metaphors that want to bite out my jugular.


I've heard that a writer's characters come alive in the mind of their creator. This may or may not be true, because I regard my own characters more as tools or playthings than anything else. I do horrible things to them (get them killed, maimed, disfigured, raped, emotionally scarred, etc) so it's probably better that away. If my own characters came to life they'd probably kill me. Fanfiction characters, on the other hand/tentacle/paw/thing (you get the idea)... are a different story.

"Explain this," someone said.

I minimized the Word document I had been fiddling with (you know, adjusting the font size and margins and in general relieving the itch that is my obsessive-compulsive urge to get things _just right_) and turned around in my Mom's old swivel chair that smelled like peanut butter, just in time to have... something... dropped into my lap.

It was a rather chubby white bunny with mad red eyes, a lop-eared creature that snarled at me and revealed a mouthful of fangs. I looked up at the Levantine Assassin who was standing in front of me, arms folded across his chest, glaring resentfully at the lapin.

"It's a plot bunny," I said, stating the obvious and continuing to examine the carnivorous metaphor (yes, plot bunnies are metaphors). "And, by the looks of it, a _Templar _plot bunny. Did it bite your ankles or something?"

"No," Altair said crossly. Glancing at his feet, I saw that though the Templar bunny hadn't exactly _bit _the Flying Eagle, it had chewed a rather large hole in the Assassin's right boot. Ah, well, at least that explained why the half-Arab was grumpier than usual.

"Die, heathen!" the bunny screamed, and lunged for my throat.

Altair snatched it away from me just in time, getting his hand bit in the process, before throwing the plot bunny at the wall. There was a sharp crack, and then the lapin slumped to the floor, leaving a trail of blood on the wall.

I sighed. "You _had _to do that, didn't you?" I said, getting out of my chair to fetch a wash cloth from the bathroom.

"It'll regenerate, and walls can be cleaned," Altair snapped in reply, leaning against the doorframe. The bunny with the broken neck was dead... but it would come back. It wasn't exactly real, in a certain sense, just the way Altair wasn't exactly real. Therefore, it couldn't truly die. I wiped down the wall and threw the bloody cloth into the sink, then picked up the bunny's corpse and secured it away in an old cat carrier. Give it a few hours, and the plot bunny would come back to life... doubtless intending to wreak vengeance on Altair.

"So where'd you find it?" I asked, sitting back down in my chair.

"In the bathroom, lying in wait with a cleaver," the Assassin said curtly.

"Well, that's more murderous than usual. Most of them just come looking for either me or a drink."

Altair grunted. "Templar," he said, as though that one word explained everything. I shrugged in reply.

"What are you going to do with it?" the Flying Eagle demanded.

I sighed and leaned back in my chair. It would be impossible to keep the bunny here, mostly because the little buck-toothed bastard was so vicious towards the Assassin's Creed characters that I wrote about. So, therefore I either had to get rid of the bunny permanently (not working on the fic it personified) or else give it away.

"I'll send it to Kristina," I said, scribbling down a quick note on a piece of notebook paper and attaching it to the cat carrier.

"The one who moons over Robert de Sable?" Altair demanded.

"Is there any other?"

Altair made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat and stared up at the ceiling as I sent the bunny over to my friend via a rather pleading email. I reread what I'd written, groaned, and sent another email asking her to send back the cat carrier when it was no longer needed.

"Happy?" I asked Altair once the entire bunny business had been taken care of.

"Overjoyed," the Assassin deadpanned.

"Be careful not to smile too much, or your face might crack and break off," I warned dryly. The Flying Eagle chose to ignore the taunt, and left.


End file.
